


A History of Breath

by Cymbidia, SoftObsidian74



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Breathplay, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Magical Asgardian Sex Potions Courtesy Of Thor Odinson, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-19 17:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14242518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbidia/pseuds/Cymbidia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74
Summary: Steve has a different relationship to breathing than most people do. He asks Bucky to help him explore this relationship with waterboarding. Bucky refuses on the grounds that waterboarding is dangerous and also torture, but reconsiders his stance when he comes into possession of a case of alien sex potion that would make the waterboarding Safe, SaneandConsensual.





	A History of Breath

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the MCU King Bang! I'm glad I finished this and didn't end up dropping out. I decided to write this after noticing the disappointingly small volume of consensual waterboarding smut on AO3. The lovely [SoftObsidian74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/) made the lovely graphics, banners, and an awesome playlist that can be found on either [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/softobsidian74/playlist/1Uz3a4AW5WAiNatHXBOF71?si=CEaefOJ_QoyGSGIi3SS7Iw) or on [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAED7NB_eWqMN6Dbt8q0yHyCeReCWDreq)
> 
> Content warning: Steve experiences a flashback to drowning midway through this fic.

 

 

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141141476@N02/27420904328/in/album-72157692241617742/)

### PART ONE: A HISTORY OF BREATH

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141141476@N02/41293257001/in/album-72157692241617742/)

Cities, as centers of human habitation, always stank. New York City, the city of cities, had its own particularly pungent fragrance. Steve was inured to the scent most of the time, but in the throes of an asthma attack, the scent of garbage and rot burned along his throat and scoured his lungs like steel wool.

Shaking and weak-kneed, Steve closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to be afraid. He counted his breathing, like he had been taught to do, but his airways were constricted and there were black spots beginning to appear in his vision.

The agony of slow asphyxiation was terrible. His lungs burned. His throat burned. His eyes burned. His heart was a loud and deadly drumbeat in his ears. The brick wall under his hand was rough against his fingertips. He counted his breaths.

one two three four

_The cacophony of Brooklyn in the industrious morning had fallen away and there was just his heartbeat and his loud wheezing and_

one two three four

_The sweat on his brow icy cold and there was an incongruously strong itch on his back he wanted to scratch and_

one two three four

_The slow, steady movements of a hand rubbing his back and fumbling in his pockets for his medicine and-_

“Bucky?” Steve gasped, and resumed his careful counting of breaths.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Bucky murmured soothingly, taking out a pair of tiny pills from the box. “Open up, Stevie,” he instructed.

Steve obeyed, and Bucky pressed the little white pill under his tongue.

“That’s it, pal,” Bucky said, rubbing Steve’s back up and down and beginning to breathe deeply and slowly. “Follow my breathing Stevie, __one__  two three four, __two__  two three four, that's it, you can do it, __three__  two three four…”

Steve matched his breathing to Bucky’s almost immediately, a swiftness borne from habit and practice both. Slowly, ever so slowly, the panic seizing his stuttering heart abated and his airways relaxed minutely. By the time Steve could muster up the strength to stand up straight and shrug off Bucky’s soothing hand on his back, he was drenched in cold sweat and shaking so badly that he felt more like a trembling leaf than a flesh and blood man.

Steve breathed as deeply and slowly as he dared, and the relief of oxygen flooding his brain was so timely and sweet and desperately needed that he- that he-

Steve breathed through the last of his dizziness, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder to steady himself. When he felt up to it again, he picked up the bag of groceries he had dropped on the front stoop and got into their shared apartment. His knees were weak and his legs were shaking. He was—

Despite himself, despite the agony and the discomfort and the terror of it all, he had come out of it alive, and the relief, the rush, the sweet sweet bliss of being alive, had left him lightheaded and dizzy even as his heart rate settled into its usual limp. He was excruciatingly and achingly—

* 

The kiss had been sweet, then filthy, then demanding and violent and brutal. Bucky had teeth and liked to bite. Steve, always seeking out a fight to prove himself, enjoyed the roughness of it, but enjoyed it more when Bucky pinned him by the wrist and kissed him into submission, until Steve couldn’t form enough coherent thought to register that he ought to protest the submission. Steve simply panted and moaned and opened his mouth up to meet Bucky, awash in Bucky’s scent and taste and presence.

Bucky laughed, soft and low, when they broke apart. They both looked like they'd been mauled by  wild animals. Steve smirked back, licking his lips where they had been ever so gently bitten until swollen. Bucky rested his head on Steve’s shoulder, holding him for an incongruously tender moment, smiling and still. Then, he exposed his oral fixation and began licking and sucking on Steve’s stubbly jaw. Steve huffed a laugh at the wet tongue tickling his jawline, then squeaked when Bucky moved down and nibbled at his neck.

“You like that?” Bucky murmured, scraping his teeth against Steve’s jugular.

“No!” Steve said defensively, but he did, he did like it. He liked it so much he had to be careful every time he took himself in hand that he did not leave fingerprints around his own neck. He liked it so much that his blood rushed downwards and his dick hardened so swiftly he was dizzy. He liked it so much that he had gone still under Bucky’s mouth and hand, anticipating more even as he denied wanting it.

“Well, alright,” Bucky said easily, accepting his denial, and Steve had to fight down a stab of disappointment.

He was less disappointed when, later, Bucky wrapped his warm calloused hands around his neck and squeezed ever so gently as he tightened around Steve’s dick, and watched with a smirk as Steve’s mouth fell open and his face screwed up in orgasm.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141141476@N02/41293257161/in/album-72157692241617742/)

*

“I need—” Steve paused, his face strained. His miraculously healthy body was no longer plagued by the pains of asthma and bad lungs, but it didn’t mean the complexes that his lifetime of living with his illnesses had also upped and left. But he was Captain America now, a supersoldier, and he was not supposed to have such indulgence in weakness. “Please, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes were feverish even as his smile looked familiar and unchanged. “Of course, Stevie." The hand pumping Steve’s dick did not waver as Bucky brought a hand up to Steve’s neck and _squeezed_. Steve gasped, his eyes fluttering closed. His pulse pounded in his ears. White spots appeared behind his eyelids. Bucky’s hand was so strong and so unrelenting it was almost superhuman, but Steve couldn't think beyond the drumming of his pulse and the hand on his cock and the pleasure ripping itself out in waves from the roots of Steve’s teeth.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141141476@N02/26421320767/in/album-72157692241617742/)

“Ah- ah!” Steve huffed softly as he came, clutching at Bucky’s shoulders and almost doubling over with the intensity of his orgasm.

“Better?” Bucky said, smiling sardonically at him.

“T-thank you,” Steve said, still trying to catch his breath. He pawed at Bucky’s shirt, trying to reciprocate, but Bucky shrugged off his touch.

“Get some sleep, Stevie,” Bucky said gently. He felt cold, somehow, though he was warm and sweet as ever. “I’ll take watch.”

Bucky stood, straightened his uniform, and exited the tent. Steve said nothing of how Bucky didn’t need to take watch, safely ensconced in a SSR base. Steve simply sighed and wrapped a hand around the pistol under his pillow. He closed his eyes. He did feel better, knowing that Bucky was standing guard. Yet another weakness not excised by the serum.

There was blood and there was death and there was unending, bone grinding horror. There was also the in-between times.

“More,” Steve gasped, and Bucky obliged.

“Harder,” Steve begged, and Bucky obliged.

“Kneel,” Bucky said, and Steve obliged.

“Close your eyes,” Bucky said, and Steve obliged.

“Open your mouth and let me fuck your tight little throat,” Bucky ordered, and Steve obliged too.

It was desperate and difficult and mind blowing. Steve liked being taken apart. Steve liked being able to forget for a few moments. Bucky liked knowing that Steve was soft and pliant and dependent on him even if it was just for a few hours.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141141476@N02/26421320927/in/album-72157692241617742/)

*

 

The train was so loud and the alpine air was so cold. Ice gripped Steve’s lungs. Bucky. Bucky was— He was—

Steve gasped, and gasped, and gasped. His lungs were healthy now. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this anymore.

He dropped to his knees and let out a wordless scream.

*

 

The plane was so loud and the arctic air was so cold. Ice nipped at Steve’s fingertips even as he said his goodbyes and brought the nose of the plane downwards to the ocean.

The glass exploded inwards and Steve had only a moment to choke against the icy water burning down his nose — into his lungs— burning, it burned, but it was so cold and he couldn't breathe, he couldn’t—

The water filled up the cockpit all at once, and though he was a supersoldier, he was human. Steve choked and gasped and gurgled, clawed at the twisted metal beam trapping him, then—

 

Cold, black oblivion.

*

 

The Avengers were—

 

The future was—

 

The Potomac was cold this time of year. Steve was barely conscious when he fell, and he did not have enough energy left to struggle against the agony of drowning.

 A hand, metal, unyielding.

 Steve coughed, and the world went black.

*

The water was so sweet and so cool against his feverish skin and Steve couldn’t— he couldn't stop wanting. It was wrong and he should not want this, but he couldn’t _stop_.

The scratch of nails against his pale neck was no longer enough. The sweet thrill of a hand around his throat and the rush of blood and oxygen flooding back all at once into him was no longer enough. The sweet soft pleasure of having his mouth held open and his throat ravaged until he choked and gagged and couldn’t breathe anymore was no longer enough. He wanted the water. He wanted the oblivion. He wanted to know that he would live and that Bucky would come for him.

He wanted to be held in Bucky’s inexorable grip and he wanted the water and he wanted to come all over himself as he cried, because he didn't know how else he would exorcise this horrible aching void in his chest.

 *

“Waterboarding?” Steve repeated, his throat dry. He hadn’t had cause to think about torture - or resisting it - for quite some time.

“Yes, it is uniquely effective,” Natasha said, examining a zit on her cheek in Steve’s hallway mirror. “Also very illegal and banned in most countries. Technically a human rights violation I guess? Definitely torture.”

But Steve had stopped listening. His eyes were beginning to glaze over as he got one of his Bad Ideas. Had Bucky been in the room, he would have cursed and run for the hills. Things never went well when Steve adopted that particular look of determination.

 

 

### PART TWO: THE ATTEMPT

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141141476@N02/26421321147/in/album-72157692241617742/)

The very first time, he lasted all of three seconds.

The cloth was placed over his face and the first impact of the cold water hit, and he was sitting up and gasping, lungs seizing up from not the few droplets of water he’d inhaled, but the sense-memory of being back in the Valkyrie. He ripped the cloth off his face with all his strength, gagging and choking and desperately trying to cough up the water sliding down his trachea and into his lungs. It felt like glass shards, and some deeply buried part of him wailed with terror. He was on that plane again.

The terrifying weightlessness of the fall. The crash. The water carrying glass shards and metal shrapnel as it slammed to him with relentless force. The endless minutes he’d choked, trying to stop his instinctive gasping, trying to get free of the crumpled metal debris that had trapped him in the cockpit.

He could feel the crackle of tesseract energy still cracking through the air, the faint taste of blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek. The metal cockpit floor. The almost imperceptible throb of the wounds he'd sustained while fighting Schmidt.

Steve stared up at the ceiling, gasping for breath and trying to pull himself together. If he didn't, Bucky was going to feel guilty, and that was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't stop hyperventilating even as his superhuman body stopped choking. It was almost like being asthmatic again, black spots appearing in his vision and his ears ringing as he clenched his fists tight and tried to stop.

Why couldn't he stop? He coughed, only faintly aware of the snot and tears on his face, and choked down a sob. He was fine. He was __fine__. He was shivering. The water he'd swallowed felt like ice in his stomach. He was fine.

After a few desperate minutes of hyperventilation and suppressed sobbing, Steve became distantly aware of the blood under his nails. He'd clenched his fists too hard. He flexed his fingers.

"-two three four five, in two three four five," Bucky's voice was right next to his ear, but it sounded distant. Distressed.

With great effort, Steve focused on Bucky's words. They were familiar. Bucky used to do this for him all the time. That was right, he had to breathe. It was-it was good for his asthma. Steve began breathing to the rhythm that Bucky was coining out. He coughed softly, his throats feeling sore, then resumed his breathing. He was kind of lightheaded and - his face was covered in tears.

His sweat cooled, and his heart eventually slowed to its regular pace.

“Sorry,” Steve croaked. “I-I didn’t think it would go like that.”

“Well I did!” Bucky said unhappily. “But...now you know, right?” He was frowning and the furrow between his eyebrows had deepened. Nevertheless, he was gentle as he took out a fluffy yellow bath towel from one of the drawers and wrapped it around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve frowned, shivering. He felt- dissatisfied. Unfulfilled.

“I can take it,” he insisted. “I want to...I have to.” He had fantasized about it for weeks. Had Bucky choke him, fuck his throat, smother him until he came and passed out. But none of it was enough. None of it was the same. He needed it. Steve couldn’t bear being immersed in water that wasn’t scalding hot, but he was desperate for the peace that came from drowning. It was painful, and it was horrible, but in the moment between giving up to the inevitable and the void of unconsciousness, that had been the last moment of peace he’d known. On the Valkyrie. In the Potomac.

“Can- can we try again?” Steve asked, clenching his fists around the towel.

Bucky looked unhappy, but not distressed.  He studied Steve’s face. There was a look of great effort on his face as he searched for words. 

“I can teach you to stop flinching,” Bucky said finally, his voice low. He avoided Steve’s gaze by studying the drain set on the ground.

Steve recoiled.

“I-I wouldn’t ask that of you.” Steve pushed himself off the angled table and stood on trembling knees. He set aside the towel and took Bucky’s hands. “Buck- I’m not...it hurts, but...it’s not __hurtin__ g _ _me__.”

Bucky had mentioned, once, how Hydra had taught him stop flinching. That had been before they invented the chair. Manual recalibration. Lessons learned with the body, lessons learned in pain and blood.

“I know, but...” Bucky took a deep breath and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He drew his hands out of Steve’s grasp, and turned away. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and pulled on his hair with the other. He sucked in another breath and whirled back around.

“You’re drowning! You couldn’t breathe!” Bucky said, emphatically. He was generally quieter these days, so what Bucky said “emphatically” any other person would have...shouted. Screamed. Bellowed.

Steve flinched. “I’m sorry Buck,” Steve said. “I- I shouldn’t have asked you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Bucky’s left arm shimmered as the plates recalibrated. “I agreed to it,” Bucky said shortly. “You’d do the same for me.”

But Steve wouldn’t do the same for him. The idea of laying Bucky out on a table and hurting him was so horrific that Steve recoiled from the very thought. It was just- it’s just- Steve had a different relationship to breathing than most people did, that was all.

“I wouldn’t do the same for you,” Steve said. He frowned at himself. “And I won’t ask you to do this to me again, I’m sorry. I’ll… find someone else. A professional.”

“A professional torturer?” Bucky’s voice climbed in pitch. His incredulity overtook his unhappiness for a moment.

“I was thinking a- a prostitute, actually.” Steve shrugged awkwardly.

Bucky took another long, slow breathe. “Steve. What the fuck kind of prostitute is skilled in waterboarding?!”

“It’s a sex thing,” Steve protested. “There are people who do asphyxiation. I’m sure there’s someone out there.”

“Setting aside the issue of skill, you’re Captain fucking America!” Bucky said. “And you’re not even supposed to be in the country!”

Steve’s expression was beginning to shift from apologetic to stubbornness.

“I’ll ask a friend then! I’m sure I know at least one more person who is proficient with- this.”

“Fine! Do what you want!” Bucky said. He was half irritated and half relieved. “Just… as long as I don’t have to see it.”

“I’m sorry Buck,” Steve said again, his face softening.

Bucky huffed, but managed a strained smile. “Lets get dressed, I dunno about you but I think we just killed the mood.”

###  PART THREE: THE DEUS EX MACHINA

 

“I don’t need it anymore,” Thor said, morose. “The lady Jane enjoyed my homemade waffles immensely, but now that we are to separate, I shall return to Asgard where no power sockets of this configuration exist, so I shall not need this waffle iron any longer.”

“It’s a very nice waffle iron, Thor,” Bucky said awkwardly. “Thanks. I’ll use it every week.”

“There are some more things,” Thor said sadly. “The stuffed animals and the photo album of Asgard that milady no longer wants. Our golden apples too.”

“Golden apples?” Bucky said, eyebrows raised. Surely Thor hadn’t been planning on making  Jane immortal. Surely Asgard didn’t have that kind of ability.

Thor flushed. “It, ah…” he laughed awkwardly. “The golden apple is what we on Asgard call a special medical distillation of a kind of apple that grows on my home planet. The..ah…coupling of Asgardians is sometimes too vigorous for the humans of Midgard, and the golden apple fortifies the body whilst enhancing pleasure. It enchants the drinker’s body and makes one impervious to harm while the drink is in effect. It would be a useful effect for any warrior, but none have been able to separate out the strong aphrodisiac effect. Tis a largely useless tincture in Asgard, but it served me well for a time.” Thor looked sadly at the case of magic sex potion like a golden retriever who had just been kicked.

Bucky didn’t really have any sympathy for Thor, he deserved the dumping, but Bucky was beginning to get an _idea_.

“Hey, Thor.” Bucky said casually. “Buddy. Just separate out all the stuff you don’t want and I’ll take care of it. Looking at all these reminders of your ex won’t help you get over her. I’ll donate whatever’s good and throw out the rest.”

Thor perked up marginally. “Thank you, James!” he said, his voice not quite as booming and godly as usual but no longer sounding like he was on the verge of tears either.

In the end, it took Bucky three trips to Goodwill before he got rid of all Thor’s shit, but the triumph of slamming a case of magic Asgardian sex potion on the table and asking Steve if he wanted to try his weird torture thing again was worth the heavy lifting.

### PART FOUR: THE ATTEMPT, PART II

"Steve, are you sure?" Bucky asked one last time.

"Yes, I'm sure," Steve said. He smiled. His gut was beginning to tighten with anticipation, and though he wasn't hard yet, he was pleasantly aware of the press of his dick against his underwear. “Are _you_  sure?” Steve asked.

Bucky smiled at him. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “It doesn’t bother me as long as I __know__  I won’t hurt you.”

Steve took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and preparing himself. He nodded, and Bucky's soft, careful look transformed into an expression of concentration and utmost diligence. Bucky took matters of trust very seriously these days.

Bucky set a black plastic case on the table, unzipping it to reveal the needle and syringe inside, as well as ampoules of clear fluid wrapped in labels packed to the brim with medical jargon and warning symbols. Steve held out his arm, and obediently allowed Bucky to maneuver the limb for an easy angle.

"Don't look," Bucky instructed with a low, soft voice. "Keep your eyes on me."

Steve obeyed. It was no hardship to look at Bucky, older but softer and completely in control of himself, no longer terrified. Safe. Happy, as much as people like them ever got to be happy. Steve wanted to look and his dick ached at the thought of seeing the needle slide into flesh, but he was determined to be pliant right up to the point where his body made it impossible. He breathed steadily against the quickening beat of his heart and focused his gaze on Bucky's soft pink lips and dark long lashes.

Steve counted his breaths and counted Bucky's lashes and counted the number of plates in Bucky's prosthetic arm as he felt the cold burn of alcohol being rubbed against the crook of his elbow. The sensation had never been Steve's favorite - he disliked it more than he did the actual pain of injection - yet even this particular discomfort was somehow thrilling. Steve shifted in his seat, careful not to move his arm. He could feel his nipples peaking. He shifted again. He was definitely at least half hard now.

"Keep still." Bucky's voice was soft and commanding, and Steve stilled, chastised.

There was a sound of the glass ampoule being broken, and Steve couldn't help but sneak a peek. He saw nothing more than the glint of a silver needle and the clear crystal of the glass in Bucky's hands, but that was enough to make his breath hitch.

Bucky looked up from his preparations. "Last chance to turn down the magic alien roofies," he said, brows furrowing slightly with concern.

"Go ahead," Steve said quickly. He didn't moan, but it was a near thing.

Bucky nodded, and returned to his preparations. Steve was hyper aware of the soft "tink" of needle against glass, of the syringe being drawn, and of liquid flowing up. Steve didn't sneak another glance, but he was so aware of the sound and scent that he could visualize the process perfectly in his mind's eye. There was the faintest sensation of a droplet or two of fluid brushing against Steve's arm as Bucky depressed the plunger slightly to remove air bubbles.

"Stay still," Bucky reminded Steve again.

The prick of the needle into his arm was familiar to Steve, more familiar than anything in this century. It was a sense memory that had more associations bound to it than there were stars in the sky. Steve had to make a huge effort to stay still and do as he was told. The slide of the needle under his skin was agonizingly slow. The dull pain of being breached slid across each individual cell that the needle parted. Steve could imagine the drag of the metal piercing bundles of muscle fiber and breaching blood vessels. The needle went in, steady and smooth. It had not been particularly drawn out for dramatic effect, but hyperfocus and super senses made Steve agonizingly aware of each nanosecond of sensation.

Bucky paused ever so slightly. Steve had the space of a single breath to stare unseeingly at Bucky's stumbled cheek and pant against the pinprick of pain in his arm. Then, a duller pain bloomed in Steve's arm as Bucky depressed the plunger and injected the drug.

Steve made a tiny noise in the back of his throat. The bloom of pressure in his vein was barely a blip compared to the many pains he’d had to tolerate throughout his life, but it was so vivid in his senses that he could almost trace the molecules of the drug dispersing throughout his body.

A kind of golden glow began burning in Steve’s chest, smack dab in the middle of his ribcage and to the right of his heart. The warmth spread with each thumping heartbeat and each shaking breath. Steve felt good. Steve felt invincible. Steve felt himself blush red and pink all over as his already piqued libido went into overdrive and all he could think about was his impending orgasm.

“Stand,” Bucky said, and Steve stood.

“Get on the table,” Bucky said, and Steve got on the table.

“Be good,” Bucky said, and Steve pliantly allowed himself to be restrained.

“Hold this,” Bucky said. “Do you know what to do with it?”

Steve stared up at Bucky, then nodded. He twitched his fingers around the Dead Man’s switch in his hands. It would release all his restraints and emit a loud, unmistakable beep, which would signal to Bucky to stop immediately.

“Tell me again,” Bucky prompted.

“Hold on to it,” Steve said. “Let go if I wanna stop.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “What’s your safe word?”

“Sputnik,” Steve said.

“Colors?” Bucky asked.

“Green to go, yellow to pause. Wait for me to ask for more.”

“Alright,” Bucky said. All the negotiation had been rehashed many times before hand. “You ready?”

“Yes Buck,” Steve said, and he remained steady despite his rabbiting heartbeat as Bucky unceremoniously threw a towel over his face and uncapped a bottle of water.

“Say when,” Bucky said.

“Now,” Steve said immediately, and was confronted with the water splashing onto the towel. Steve coughed and swallowed at the water pooling up over his mouth. He tried to hold his breath and keep the water out of his nostrils. He failed. The angle of the table tilted his head downwards and the first splashes of water trickled into his nose. He coughed, and snorted, and tried to blow his nose. The water burned the whole way up his nasal passage. He coughed, and felt the horrible sensation of the water travelling against the pull of gravity and into his trachea.

“Say when,” Bucky said again.

Steve coughed and sputtered, and somewhere in there he choked out a hasty “Now!”

The second gush of water was worse than the first. There was more of it, for one thing, and that meant that Steve couldn’t manage to swallow all of what got into his mouth. It burned like fire, like he had inhaled shards of glass. Steve coughed wetly, the restraints barely holding him onto the table with the force of how hard he strained and choked, but the pain was not so much wet as it was sharp and biting. Steve barely managed to get in a gulp of air around his furious and painful coughing, but choked again on the water he hadn’t quite managed to swallow. He began coughing again. His heart was thudding loudly in his ears, pounding so hard that it was physically painful. Terror and agony and the sweet exquisite sensation of helplessness converged to make Steve’s head spin. The breathlessness probably also helped.  As his fit subsided and he began to shallowly breathe in gulps of sweet, welcome air, Steve registered that he was horribly and excruciatingly hard.

“How are you doing? Gimme a color,” said Bucky, sounding very concerned.

Steve panted shallowly and tried to form a coherent thought. “G-green,” he said, his voice thick and raspy. “I can take it, gimme more.”

Bucky made a noise of assent and raised the bottle of water again. This time the water splashed in a thin stream, and when Steve began to choke and cough and convulse, he did not stop the water immediately, but rather maintained the flow for several more seconds. Steve was almost beyond the point of coughing. He was beginning to gag now, but there was water in his mouth and water in his throat and water in his lungs and water in his stomach. No matter how his body convulsed and rebelled, there was only water burning cold and painful like razor blades scouring his insides. He could feel it sloshing in his esophagus. He could feel it coating his trachea. He gagged and vomited out a mouthful of water, only to start choking on it again. He couldn’t catch his breath and he couldn’t stop struggling and it hurt it hurt _it hurt._

Dropping the dead man’s switch, Steve barely registered his restraints clicking open with a loud shrill beep as he surged up and pulled the towel off his face. He leaned over the side and began vomiting. There was nothing in his stomach but water, and not even much of that. Soon he was just dry heaving, each nauseating motion making his head feel like it would burst.

The dry heaves subsided, and he coughed weakly, then wiped his mouth. His face was covered in tears and snot and a whole lot of water.

“Are you okay?” Bucky said, wide eyed. He didn’t look properly upset yet, but it was clear he was beginning to become uncomfortable.

“Y-yes,” said Steve, sounding like he just swallowed gravel. “are you-” he coughed. “Are _you_  okay? Give me a color.”

“Yellow- _ish_ ,” said Bucky. “I just - I’m okay as long as I know that _you_ ’re okay.”

“ _I’m_  more than okay,” said Steve, despite the pounding ache of his head and the chill of his cooling sweat and the tears wetting his lashes. “But are you __sure__ -”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Bucky said. “I can keep going no problem.”

Steve scrutinized Bucky, and determined that was probably close to the truth.

“Alright then,” said Steve, and picked up the switch. He lied down and pressed the button, and the restraints clicked back closed. He looked up at Bucky. “Can you also…pull me off? While I…you know.”

Amusement replaced the discomfort that had begun to creep into Bucky’s face. “Sure thing, pal,” he said. It seemed to put him at ease. A handjob was undeniably a sex thing, and that was less upsetting. He dropped a fresh dry towel over Steve’s face, then picked up the water. “Say when,” he said again.

Steve took several deep and fortifying breathes before he said “now.”

The brief respite seemed to have made everything hurt even more. Steve choked and coughed and strained and struggled, and the water ate away at him more painfully than acid. It had been painful from the start, but the pain was beginning to overtake arousal. However, Bucky’s warm calloused hand gripping Steve’s dick soon changed that, and the struggle and the strain and the white spots in Steve’s vision seemed to suddenly become complementary to his pleasure. It became __more__. His lungs ached and struggled and protested, and his world had narrowed to only the pain in his chest and the pleasure between his legs.

“M-more,” Steve managed to choke out, and Bucky obliged without pausing or double checking that Steve was really alright. They had conducted enough inadvisable sexacapades to know when the other was close to orgasm.

Another torrent of water streamed into Steve’s nose and mouth, and he was beginning to strain against his bonds in earnest. The burn of the water was almost secondary now. What little of the water he had swallowed turned his stomach into a pool of ice, and his head was aching with all the straining he had done. The white spots in Steve’s vision grew as his lungs spasmed uselessly, no longer even sure if it was inhaling or exhaling. Steve was coughing and hiccuping and gagging, and he was being torn out of his body.  His vision whited out completely and the discomfort seemed to dull, until he felt with nothing but desperation and pleasure. He had surpassed pain and was now left only with intensity. A mangled moan tore out of him as his back tensed into a perfect arc. He was held there for a torturous moment by the transcendence fluttering in his chest and Bucky’s steady and familiar grip on his cock, and all of a sudden the full sensation of his agony crashed down upon him as his dick twitched and spurted in orgasm. Steve shuddered and groaned wordlessly as Bucky stroked him through it, until finally he was spent.

He let the switch drop out of his hands, and shifted so that he was lying on his side. The water inside him hadn’t magically disappeared with his orgasm, and he spent several miserable minutes coughing and hacking it all back up, no longer buoyed by arousal. It was cold, and uncomfortable, and painful. There was water and saliva and snot everywhere. Steve reached for a towel when he felt his wet coughing subside. Bucky pressed a towel into his hand, and Steve wiped his face and chest gratefully.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said. His head was pounding from being deprived of air, and he ached all over. Despite it all, he felt euphoric. His limbs were loose and his head was heavy and all his worries seemed so, so far away. He was at peace. He had survived. He was sucking in lungfuls of sweet oxygen, unrestrained by his failing lungs. He was safe. Steve couldn’t help the smile beginning to spread tiredly across his face.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” Bucky asked, studying Steve gently.

Steve squinted at Bucky for a moment. “I want a nap,” he announced with an air of supreme self-satisfaction.

“Anything for you, pal,” Bucky said, long-suffering, but smiled as he picked Steve up and carried him off to bed.

The bed was warm and, more importantly, dry as Steve settled in. He felt like he had just run several miles or cried at his therapist for a hour straight. The sense of catharsis was even better than the orgasm. He yawned.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve said sleepily.

“Yes Steve?” Bucky said, lounging on the bed beside him and playing with his phone.

“It was great but maybe once was enough,” Steve said. “One more thing off the bucketlist.”

“Oh thank god,” Bucky muttered. Still, he was smiling and undistressed. He seemed rather more cheerful about the whole experience now that it had ended without disaster.

“You take my breath away,” Steve mumbled with his eyes closed, and fell asleep before Bucky could be outraged at the pun. He dreamed of his past, but his breathing remained easy.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I may or may not have accidentally hit post before the posting date on this fic, but it's chill, I deleted that one and put this one up at the right time. Hopefully I put this up at the right time.


End file.
